Monday Poem

—on the occasion of an unexpected email from an old
friend who'd abruptly withdrawn from conversation
some years earlier without explanation


Just wondering if worlds seen from a distance
really are smaller than they are
Could it be that when we sleep
the world we leave goes on without us
Maybe you remember the old days
when greenhorns multiplied their joys
and were thoughtless as a new moon
Is it possible that, from upstairs,
everything is seen through a rose window
crisp as Venus or is nothing to be seen between us
Perhaps, in your wintering,
you needed to spend some years
on an island being tuned
when suddenly you cleared your gears
and thought I might be snow shoveling
this morning on the cusp of spring
I wanted to ask if maybes still exist
or if tomorrow is so sure a thing
So, are you still counting coup
on the enemies of the morning dew
I hadn’t heard, so thought I’d start a new tale
of thoughts that may never have been played,
thoughts naked as the first babe born today
Have you noticed something odd
—that nothing ever changes but the color
of the feather in the hat band of god
Could I
Would you
What the
And why the unworn soles of the shoes
on the tongue of the dancer —bad luck?
When did you say you last caught
glimpses of the ghosts you fought
I never asked, but I suspect
you’re still stuffed with words,
a cornucopia of clever corkscrews
in our alphabet
Possibly it’s a mistake,
but even god's not perfectly awake
For what it’s worth breakfast’s the best meal of the day
The sun’s a fresh egg, the clouds white albumin
—ahead? a day with plenty of time and space to stew in
Guess I could just jot something down
recalling our bridges of contention
with their steel beams and tenuous
cables of suspension
If it’s not too much to ask (you asked
—the paper being so unreliable these days
and TV a joke)
how’s the weather?

Fine , and yours?
as fine, I hope

by Jim Culleny